


Two For One

by red_crate



Series: 2017 Kinktober Collection [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Anal Play, Creampie, Established Relationship, Just the Tip, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Masturbation, Negotiated kink, Praise Kink, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-09 01:13:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12265899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: Peter’s done it a few times, taking his time until Stiles was shaking, needing to be fucked again. But something about having Chris spread him open to chase after Peter’s come—it feels kinkier, dirtier, and hewants it.





	Two For One

**Author's Note:**

> Twisted_Mind was kind enough to beta this for me. She worked hard, because I am murderer of grammar rules. <3 I tweaked things after she finished (because I can never leave well enough lone). All remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Written for Kinktober day 7: creampie
> 
> Additional warning: Head’s up that Peter takes nsfw pictures of Stiles during sex without Stiles’s knowledge and shares them, without explicit permission, with Chris. Stiles doesn’t mind when he finds out.

 

He is sprawled on top of Peter, drifting along with the steady thump of his lover's heartbeat, as fingers card through his hair. Stiles drifts further into a relaxed state. He stretches his legs, squirming when he’s reminded of the mess he’s still lying in, of what’s smeared between his thighs. If he doesn’t clean up soon, he and Peter will have to unstick, which will be painful. He doesn’t care very much right now, not when he’s still come-drunk and sleepy.

“Oh,” Peter murmurs. There’s a smile in his voice. “Chris is home.” He twists his fingers in Stiles’ hair, holding him down when Stiles goes to get up.

Even though he has no complaints about Peter manipulating Chris into coming home early, Stiles doesn't want to reward it. A token protest is about all he's up for right now. 

“What did you do?” He huffs against Peter’s sternum.

Chris had a weapons presentation at the police department today, and they didn’t expect him home until after five. Last he checked before the two of them got distracted, it was only three-thirty. 

“I may have sent him some incentive to wrap up quickly.” Peter waves his phone.

He must have taken pictures. 

Stiles should muster up some annoyance over that, but he can ask Peter and Chris to delete them, and they will. Besides, if that’s why Chris is home early, he can’t complain—right now, anyway.

“This is a nice welcome home.” Chris’ voice carries from the bedroom door. The mattress shifts when he joins them. “Did you have a good time without me?”

A familiar and calloused hand smooths across the back of Stiles’ leg before curling around his calf. Stiles melts when Chris starts squeezing his fingers in a lazy massage. 

“Would have been more fun with you here,” he mumbles into Peter’s chest hair, lids heavy despite the latent arousal that spikes through him at the sense memory of sex with both his lovers. Peter is stroking his hair again, and between the two of them, he doesn’t think he’s going to stay conscious much longer. 

Peter chuckles, dropping a kiss on the crown of his head. “Greedy.” He sounds smug, and Stiles hides a smile.

Instead of speaking, Chris glides his hand towards the ticklish patch behind Stiles’ knee, rubbing his thumb hard enough to avoid a fit of giggles. Stiles basks in Chris’ confident touches as he’s rearranged until he is splayed over Peter and on display.

Before he can even think to prepare for it, his ass cheeks are spread and a hot tongue swipes at him. Peter rumbles approvingly, fingers curling in the hair at the nape of his neck when Stiles jerks. 

“Fuck,  _ Chris _ !” Stiles grips the sheets in one hand and Peter’s biceps with the other as Chris pushes his tongue inside. 

“That's why you used the new stuff?” The question is directed at Peter, but the half-hearted accusation comes out a guttural moan. Stiles had only noticed because Peter had taken the time to open the fresh bottle. 

He moans again when Chris catches his rim, pressing in with a dirty slide.

Peter laughs at his surprise. “Relax, baby.” He pets Stiles’ hair. “You still want this?”

Stiles nods, then remembers to use actual words. “Yeah,  _ yes _ .” 

Peter’s done it a few times, taking his time until Stiles was shaking, needing to be fucked again. But something about having Chris spread him open to chase after Peter’s come—it feels kinkier, dirtier, and he  _ wants _ it.

Thumbs press along the edges of his rim while Chris uses the flat of his tongue to lick up the mess there. The scrape of Chris’ short beard against such a sensitive part of his body makes Stiles shudder, and he hitches a leg up to allow Chris’ shoulders fit between his thighs better. He's still pliant and loose from the way he was fucked through orgasm until Peter found his own release.Stiles lets out a broken sob, overstimulated.

“Shh.” Peter rubs Stiles’ shoulders soothingly. It grounds him, keeps him from feeling as if he’s flying apart. “You're being so good for us.”

He turns his head to the side, gasping. Chris’ thumb has pushed inward, tugging him open and taking up space. It feels like too much, and Stiles  _ loves it _ . He rocks back, even though his cock aches as it tries to harden. Even for him, this might be too soon. But he craves the way it feels to be held open and used by the two men he loves most—to know that he's the center of their attention. 

“I love you.” Chris speaks against Stiles’ skin, moving up from his hole to the crest of his ass. He tongues the dimples bracketing the base of Stiles’ spine. 

Chris is still fully dressed, and the zipper of his jacket is cold, rough against Stiles’ sides as Chris stretches over him to kiss Peter. His shirt is soft and worn though, and Stiles arches up just enough to press against his chest. He listens to the sound of his lovers kissing, catching his breath while he can. Chris sinks his thumb deeper, and Stiles sighs contentedly. 

“Want me to come on you, or in you?” Chris’ voice is gravelly with arousal. He kisses the shell of Stiles’ ear. 

“In him.” Peter practically purs the suggestion, nails dragging lightly over Stiles’ arm. 

He's barely paying attention to their words, distracted by the shocky feel of  _ too much-not enough _ that’s overtaking his post orgasmic high.

“I asked him, Peter,” Chris playfully chides, before sitting up and unzipping his jeans. “We already know what you’d prefer.” He’s smirking.

A moment later, the damp, silky head of his cock slides up Stiles’ crack. It catches on his rim,  _ almost  _ going inside before Chris’ length settles there, palm holding it close to Stiles’ skin as he rocks his hips. 

“Stiles.” His voice is sharper this time, cutting through the fog. “Baby, you gotta tell me. On you or in you?” 

This time, the question catches Stiles’ attention. “In me, fucking in me. Please,” he begs. 

He feels the twitch of Chris’ cock in response and grins. Stiles twists his neck so he can catch a glimpse of Chris and finds the blue of his eyes are almost swallowed by pupil. Stiles drops his head to Peter's chest and arches back, needy. 

Chris readjusts, bracing an arm on the bed as he strokes himself. His knuckles swipe across Stiles’ ass with every upstroke, and his deep groans bring a flush of pride to Stiles’ skin. 

He's starting to get hard again. 

Peter reaches down as far as he can and grabs Stiles’ hips, lifting him up in offer to Chris. Stiles cries out as the thumb that's been holding him open slides out and is replaced with the fat head of Chris’ cock. The ridge pops inside easily. 

Chris’ fist moves faster, nudging against Stiles as his cock shifts with tiny, aborted motions. 

“Fuck, I love you two,” Peter growls, fingers biting into Stiles’ hips. The ache crashes into the pleasure-pain of Chris just barely fucking into his abused hole. 

Stiles pants, mouth dry. “Come on, in me,  _ in me _ .”

Chris grunts and then he's coming hot and thick. Stiles pushes back, wanting him deeper, maybe nudge his prostate for the starburst of sensation it would bring. But Chris pulls out and slumps at the foot of the bed. 

“Holy shit, kid.” His words come out on a laugh, and he cups a hand around Stiles’ ankle. He squeezes once, then twice. 

Stiles shivers at the sudden rush of cool air across his sweaty skin, and the absolute mess between his ass cheeks. He smiles, contented.

“You did good, baby.” Peter smooths Stiles’ hair back. He's half hard, turned on by the show and probably a little high on the smell of of them. 

Stiles hums, not quite vocal. He feels so fucking good, wanted and loved. He's also exhausted. While he knows Peter wouldn’t care, Stiles doesn't want to sleep on top of him. Instead, he rolls to the side, somehow managing not to kick Chris in the process. 

“Love you,” he mumbles. He's hard for the moment, but sated, so he ignores it as sleep tugs at him. 

He can feel Chris and Peter shifting, one of them getting up, but he doesn't bother to track them. He drifts until a warm wash cloth is gently wiped across his stomach, groin, and down between his legs. Stiles doesn't help beyond letting himself be moved however they want. When he does crack an eye open, he sees Peter leaning over him, cleaning him up as Chris finishes getting undressed. 

“Mm, thanks.” 

Peter kisses his temple and throws the dirty rag at Chris before flopping beside him. “Thank  _ you _ .” 

Chris takes the other side so Stiles is sandwiched between the two of them. “Nap, then dinner. And someone’s going to help me unload the truck later.” His voice is thick. Stiles is asleep before he hears whatever Peter says next.

**Author's Note:**

> You can check me out on [tumblr](http://the-redcrate.tumblr.com).


End file.
